


The Strange Case of the Haunted Vagina

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Butch Peter Hale, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Consent, F/F, Female Peter Hale, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderqueer Character, Grinding, Inspired By Tumblr, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Time to Google. Google will know how to fix a possessed pussy. Probably.She digs around for a bit, and she manages to find a web page for a supernatural whatever-you-need with references to “solving” hauntings and cursed items, and, well—her snatch isn’t exactly an “item”, as such, but this seems close enough.She calls the number, thinking she’ll just leave a message, and is surprised to hear, “Peter Hale, Beta Solutions, what can I help you with?”





	The Strange Case of the Haunted Vagina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/gifts), [SushiOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/gifts), [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).



> This is the fault of twothumbs and [Tumblr](https://dreamsgonebye.tumblr.com/post/184892815480/strongermonster-strongermonster-i-jus-got). They are both TERRIBLE influences. Bunnywest and SushiOwl enabled, because they are ALSO terrible influences. 
> 
> This is so stupid. I'd be ashamed of myself if I could feel shame. Embedded links are NSFW. 
> 
> Happy Friday! Enjoy the thing.

It’s three in the morning when she finally stumbles home, drunk off her ass. ADHD and nightshift have gifted her with weird waking hours, so she’s not even all that tired.

And, even if she was, she’s still too freaked out to sleep. No one who lives out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere should have their bed in the middle of an open-concept cabin. That’s just. That’s _asking_ for the monsters to get you. That’s practically an engraved invitation for the demons to slither out from under your fuckin’ bed and munch on whatever body part is dangling off the side.

And then—AND THEN! There was that hoop-thing. With the gauzy shit. And the fairy lights. Because having your bed free-floating in the middle of nowhere like a demonic buffet wasn’t enough, this chick had to be _inclusive_ and invite the fae to the party.

Honestly. The things she does for pussy.

Though, not even the—admittedly—top-quality pussy on this girl was enough to make Stiles stay the night. No way, no fuckin’ how. She knows what-all’s out there. Werewolves and demons and shit. Fuck, there’s a possibility she wound up cursed just from _screwing_ on the goddamned hell-bed. That’s all she needs. A fucking haunted vag.

And, knowing her luck, that’s probably exactly what’s happened.

Time to Google. Google will know how to fix a possessed pussy. Probably.

She digs around for a bit, and she manages to find a web page for a supernatural whatever-you-need with references to “solving” hauntings and cursed items, and, well—her snatch isn’t exactly an “item”, as such, but this seems close enough.

She calls the number, thinking she’ll just leave a message, and is surprised to hear, “Peter Hale, Beta Solutions, what can I help you with?”

Stiles takes a moment to be stunned by the smooth, light voice, and then she gets down to it. “Hi, hey, so. I just got home from this hookup, and I kinda suspect that this girl had some freaky shit going on, and that I may have wound up with a, uh, dark passenger, let's say.”

There’s a long pause. “You think that an entity formed an attachment to you . . . during intercourse?”

“Yes!” Wait. Dial it down slightly. “Look, okay, I know it sounds really nuts, but she lives in a giant one-room cabin in the woods. And it’s not like what I’m describing is any weirder than the other ways people wind up possessed or haunted, shit attaches to items all the time.”

There’s another pause. Shorter, this time. “You have a point. Alright, where are you? It’s been a slow night, I can leave as soon as you give me your address, and we can get this all sorted out tonight.”

“Fantastic.” And then she rattles off her address, because the sooner she can get peace of mind on this, the better.

“Great, I can be there in about an hour, I need to pack first.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.”

***

By the time an hour’s gone by, she’s gotten a lot closer to sober and realizes this . . . may have been a bad idea. She tried to call back and cancel, and got the answering machine. She considered leaving a message, but, well, “I was drunk and don’t actually need a specialist to exorcise my funbox” is evidence of a level of dumbassery she doesn’t want anyone to have, so.

In-person humiliation it is.

In the meantime, she showers and washes the other girl off her—no need to offend supernatural sensibilities if she doesn’t have to—downs half her weight in water, and then starts tidying up just to stay busy. If she’s left to her own devices for too long, she’ll get lost in her head, and that’s never a good time.

Just over an hour after she called, there’s a knock at her door. Stiles blows out a breath slowly, and then answers it, prepared to be a little self-deprecating as she explains whoopsie, so sorry, not an actual emergency, your services not required.

She is absolutely not prepared for the lethal levels of hotness on her doorstep, and promptly swallows her own tongue.

“Peter Hale. We spoke on the phone?” he says, smiling politely, and fuck her, this isn’t fair. He’s about average height, has a _killer_ jawline and downright _pretty_ features, piercing blue eyes, and, to top it all off, the smell of the leather jacket he’s wearing nearly makes her knees buckle.

She coughs. “Yeah, uh. You should probably come in.” She steps aside, and gestures him inside, and holy god, but the _ass_ on this man. That should not be legal. No man should have an ass that shapely.

He gives her a raised eyebrow, and right, closing the door. And then words, probably. She coughs and stares at her feet so she doesn’t go off-topic again. “I, uh. Tried to call, but I guess you were driving? Anyway, I realized that my—I’m probably not haunted, I was just being paranoid, and I am so, _so_ sorry about wasting your time this way.”

She chances a look up, and sees him smirking. That facial expression should not look so good on anyone, what the fuck. “I’m aware of the fact that it’s unlikely, but since I’m here anyway, don’t you think we should be sure?”

Stiles is so stunned she blurts, “Are you seriously suggesting performing an exorcism on my vag as a precaution?”

He starts to stalk closer, and welp, apparently she has a prey kink. She stumbles half a step back, pressing against the wall. He doesn’t cage her in, but she still feels pinned. “I’ll exercise you, alright,” he murmurs, eyes tracing slowly down her body, and oh. Oh god.

_She’s being hit on._

And—curse her entire bisexual ass—she’s gonna do it. She’s gonna tap that less than six hours after rolling out of bed with the potential woods witch, and she’s not even sorry. She’s gonna tap that so hard. “Right.” She gives her best sly smile. “I suppose that means you’ll wanna see the maybe-haunted body part in question.”

Hunger lights up his eyes and curves his mouth. “That really would be for the best.” The last few feet of space between them disappear, and one hand cups her jaw. “Latin rites work best when said at closest possible proximity.”

Her eyes widen with the implication of that—because holy shit, _yes?!_ —but then they’re kissing, and she gets to feel the butter-soft leather under her hands. She also gets to hitch her hips forward and grind against the bulge in his jeans, which. Wow. She cannot _wait_ to get nailed by that thing.

But clothes. They’re in the way. So she starts by unzipping the leather jacket, and when their kiss breaks so Peter can toss it over her couch, Stiles’s brain shorts out at what she sees.

Lickable clavicles? Oh yeah. Shoulders made for throwing your legs over? Check. Subtly defined abs? Very much present and accounted for.

It’s the breasts inside the sports bra that have her swallowing her tongue. At Peter’s raised eyebrow, she squeaks, “You’re a woman?” because goddamn, she doesn’t know. She has no idea what their gender is, but suddenly the person in front of her is about ten times as attractive and _it’s not fair_.

Peter smirks again, cupping one of her breasts over her shirt, thumb brushing her nipple where it’s visible through the cotton. She didn’t bother with a bra after she showered. “Last time I checked, yes.”

The hand sliding under her shirt to tease her other nipple distracts her for a moment. Peter leaning in to nip at her neck reminds her. “But I mean—I felt—”

The chuckle is a little mocking, but not malicious. “Told you, baby—had to pack before I came over.”

Stiles moans, and her head thumps back against the wall. That—that is not what she’d thought Peter meant, but it makes her obnoxiously, embarrassingly wet. “Please?” she whimpers, totally past shame. Shame left the fucking building when Peter’s hand went up her shirt to her tits without protest.

Peter steps back, and no, no, that’s the opposite of what she wanted—except she’s pulling at Stiles’s shirt, and oh. Yeah. Naked would be good.

She lets Peter pull her shirt off, and then heads towards her bedroom, fairly confident the other woman will follow. Sure enough, strong hands wrap around her hipbones when she stops by her bed, giving a little squeeze before dragging her PJ bottoms down.

Stiles stays where she is, suddenly a little body shy despite how horny she is. She knows exactly what she does and does not have, okay? And Peter, well.

Before she can get any more lost in thought, fingertips glide down her spine, followed by both hands smoothing up her sides. “You’re so delicate, baby. Gonna have to be careful not to break you.”

She whimpers, because she’s only human and that? That is _not fair_. “Please?”

Peter slots up against her back, solid and radiating heat. “Please what, sweet thing?” One of Peter’s hands spans across her stomach, and the other cups her throat, tilting her head back until she can see those blue, blue eyes. Peter’s still mostly clothed, the packer a firm ridge at her lower back.

This is such a terrible idea. The worst. The literal stupidest thing she’s ever done. Stiles knows it, and whispers, “Break me,” anyway.

Peter closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’s mouth. “You’re playing with fire, sweet thing. You shouldn’t invite unknown women of undetermined skills to break you.” The hand at her throat tightens—not a lot, nowhere near enough to cut off her air, but just enough to make a point. “Not when you’re so deliciously fragile.”

It cuts through the aroused haze and makes something click in her brain. “You’re not a regular ole human, are you?”

Blue eyes glow bluer, and the fingers splayed across her belly are suddenly tipped with claws that ghost over her skin. “Not at all,” Peter purrs.

Werewolf. Well, okay, that explains some of Peter’s level of ripped. Her job as a supernatural mercenary for hire would probably explain the rest.

“You still want me to take you to bed and make sure there’s nothing hiding in your pretty cunt but the orgasms I haven’t given you yet?”

And, well, there’s really only one answer to that. “Yes!” She’s hesitant about what she wants to say next, but decides to go for it and hope for the best. “Please, sir?”

A growl rumbles through her chest and into Stiles’s back. “Oh, I like that.” She manhandles Stiles into position on the bed, and being manoeuvred onto her elbows and knees, face down and ass up like she doesn’t weigh anything at all, shouldn’t be hot. Except it _is_. “You going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

She can’t help her shocked whine as she clenches at the word. She gushes fresh slick, and hides her face in the sheets. “Yes,” she mumbles, trusting Peter to hear her.

A firm smack to her ass cheek makes her yelp. “What was that, baby?”

“Yes!” she sobs, needing to be touched.

Instead, she gets another slap on the other side. “Try again, sweet thing.”

Stiles takes a moment, and blames how slow she is on the uptake on how _mind-bendingly horny_ she is. “Yes, _Daddy_.”

“That’s my girl.” One hand slides up her inner thigh to brush over her cunt. “Oh, poor thing. Was your woods witch a pillow princess?”

She whines a negative. Jenny went down on her, tried to get her off, but the bedroom set-up was too distracting. Peter goes on, sinking two fingers inside her easily, “Or do you just need what Daddy can give you?”

Peter’s fingers curl and push a little deeper before dragging out. Stiles rocks her hips back without thinking, riding Peter’s hand. It earns her a chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart. If you need something, just ask.”

“Please make me come,” she begs. She’s just—she can’t think past the need throbbing between her legs, the pleasure of Peter’s fingers inside her, the way she _knows_ it won’t take more than a few minutes to orgasm if she can just get what she needs.

Peter laughs, but it’s not mean. “Alright baby,” she murmurs. “On your back for me.”

Stiles flips over as fast as she can, wanting ( _their fingers hands mouth tongue body_ ) relief so bad so she could cry.

She maybe gives a little sob when Peter sinks two fingers back inside her. “That’s it, sweet thing. Taking my fingers like a good girl.” A third starts squeezing in to join the other two, and it’s a stretch, but she’s wet enough that it doesn’t hurt. “That’s it, baby. Gotta get you nice and loose for my cock.”

She clenches around Peter’s fingers at that. “Please?” She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. She’s desperate, greedy—she wants to come on Peter’s fingers, to feel that strong body pressing her into the mattress as Peter fucks her, to be wrecked, for Peter to sit on her face and hold her down until Peter’s done.

Luckily, she’s in not charge, and Peter isn’t indecisive.

Peter curls her hand, the heel of her palm grinding against Stiles’s clit as her fingers push insistently at Stiles’s g-spot. She’d thrash, but Peter’s other hand splays across her chest, holding her down against the bed, and her hips rut in counterpoint to the rhythm Peter sets. Stiles might be crying—because it’s hard and fast and perfect, and Peter’s going to ruin her for anyone else.

“ _Daddy_ ,” she whines, tensing as orgasm starts to build.

“Right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” She wraps her hand around Peter’s wrist, where Peter’s pressing her down, needing something to hold onto.

She’s panting, so close it almost hurts. “Daddy, _please_.”

The hand on her chest slides up to her throat—not squeezing, but pressing and present—as the hand working her cunt pushes harder. “Be a good girl, and come for me,” Peter rasps, and that’s. That it.

Climax rushes through her as every muscle goes taut and she chokes on air. It feels like forever before it ends and she goes limp.

Peter doesn’t move for a long moment, and when she does, she goes slow—starting by releasing Stiles’s throat, and then lifting her palm away from Stiles’s clit before carefully withdrawing her fingers. “Beautiful.”

Stiles feels heat burning in her cheeks at that, and hopes the blush is covered up by her usual post-sex glow. “You,” she pauses to cough, throat dry from her panting. “You want anything?”

Peter smirks, and slowly sucks her fingers clean. “I can think of something.”

A shiver goes down her spine, and her insides flutter, remembering those fingers. “That’s, uh, I meant—”

“I know what you meant, baby.” Peter unfolds, crawling up over her until her elbows bracket Stiles’s head. She starts kissing up Stiles’s throat, and Stiles breaks out in goosebumps. “But what I want,” she abandons Stiles’s throat to breathe hotly into her ear, “if to find out if you’re as much of a slut for Daddy’s cock as I think you’ll be.”

She rolls her hips, denim-clad bulge grinding against where Stiles is all wet and open, and she can’t help but whine. She’s sensitive, and it’s almost too much. At the same time, she doesn’t want Peter to stop.

“Want that, too.”

Peter huffs against her jaw. “I can tell, baby.” She sucks what’s going to be a hell of hickey into existence on Stiles’s neck, grinding against her the whole time. “Can’t wait to learn how you look, the way you’ll _smell_ , writhing under me as you take it.”

“Please, _please_ , don’t make me wait,” Stiles begs, because she needs it. She just came, but it’s not enough, not when Peter won’t give her a moment to cool down, when she’s disoriented by the force of her reaction to “Daddy”.

“Alright, baby,” Peter soothes. “I’ll give you what you need.” She gets up, and Stiles bites her lip to hold in a whine—she wants the contact, but Peter’s stripping out of her jeans, revealing [an impressive cock](http://afemmecock.com/2015/01/27/shilo/)—all swirled yellow and blue girth—inside a brief-style harness.

There’s just one thing—it’s soft? Kinda? “Um?”

Peter crooks a brow, one hand wrapping around it, sliding up slowly. By the time she lets go, it’s standing to attention. “Mm?”

And, well. Her curiosity’s piqued, now. “I’ve never seen one like that.” She nods towards Peter’s groin, just to emphasize what she means.

Peter chuckles, and climbs back up the bed. “It’s a pack-and-play. Not super-common, but I love them. Now then,” they pause on all-fours over her. “Any positions that make you scream?”

Well, a few. But she’s not interested in being taken on her stomach, not when Peter is the hottest person she’s ever had in her bed. So she bites her lip, and carefully—so she doesn’t knee the hot werewolf who wants to rail her in the face—hooks her leg over Peter’s shoulder. “Like this?”

Peter turns to press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Perfect.”

There’s some shuffling as Peter wedges her knees under the small of Stiles’s back, and then she’s rubbing the head of her cock against Stiles’s folds, coating it in slick. It sinks inside like a hot knife through butter, and Stiles doesn’t even try to hold back her groan. It’s [thick](http://afemmecock.com/2016/03/24/carter/), filling her up in all the right ways.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Peter murmurs, and then she’s rolling her hips, and Stiles lets out a little cry at how good it is. “Like this?” Peter asks, followed by another sinuous hip-roll that has her cock sliding deep and smoothly withdrawing, “Or like this?”

The rough thrust makes Stiles’s back arch as she chokes on a wail. She’s so wet that it just feels good. She expects Peter to keep going, but when she blinks up at the other woman, she sees a smirk.

“How would you like Daddy to give you your dicking, baby?”

It shorts her brain. That is the only explanation for why she tells a goddamn werewolf, “ _Hard_ , please, Daddy, give it to me hard.”

She has a moment to worry at the look of glee on Peter’s face, and then she’s being held in place and fucked within an inch of her life. It’s hard and fast, Peter’s abs flexing as she delivers the same punishing thrusts over and over, metronome steady against Stiles’s g-spot and cervix and something deep that feels amazing.

Stiles is officially ruined for other cocks. She only bottoms for Daddy, now.

It doesn’t take long before tension starts building in her pelvis, creeping down her legs and making her back arch as she gets close. Not wanting to wait, she slides a hand between them and starts rubbing her clit in counterpoint to Peter’s thrusts.

Peter, for her part, just groans. “That’s it, baby, touch yourself so you can come on Daddy’s cock.”

Apparently permission is all she needs, because she does just that, writhing and twitching as her breath hitches and pure pleasure fries every nerve ending she’s never known she had. When it’s over, she’s mostly limp, and trembling with aftershocks. Peter takes the leg slung over her shoulder and lowers it, and then lies in the cradle of Stiles’s hips to kiss her slowly.

Stiles smooths her hands up Peter’s sweaty back, and tries to participate in the kiss, but she’s mostly just panting against Peter’s mouth. After a moment, Peter levers herself up on her elbows. “Can I finish inside you?”

Stiles—she doesn’t really understand the question, but at this point, the only thing she’s ever gonna say to Peter in bed is, “Yeah.”

She almost— _almost_ —regrets it when Peter starts moving again, hips grinding and pushing her cock so deep Stiles can feel it in her belly. It’s good, but it’s too much, she’s too sensitive, and it doesn’t matter, because Peter’s a delicious weight on top of her, sucking and biting at her throat. She breaks, babbling nonsense, as Peter speeds up, hips hitching as she bites down hard on Stiles’s collarbone before slumping with a sigh.

Stiles thinks it’s fair that it takes her a minute before she understands what happened. “Did you—?”

“Mhm,” Peter hums, nuzzling against her neck. “Couldn’t resist. You smelled so good, were all soft and squirmy under me.”

And, well. It was super fucking hot, being held down and made to take it as Peter chased her orgasm, but also—“Could you, um, pull out? I’m a little, uh.”

Peter chuckles, and rolls back onto her knees smoothly. “Tender?”

“Yeah.”

Peter rests her hands on Stiles’s inner thighs, thumbs pulling her labia open. “Mm, you do look well-used.” She drags the pad of one thumb over slick, swollen flesh. “How sore are you?”

Stiles isn’t sure where this is going. “I mean, a little . . .?”

Peter ducks down, and licks a broad stripe over her cunt. “Too sore for this? I think you need that exorcism after all—pretty sure I heard you speaking in tongues.”

She’s gonna die. “Oh god,” she moans.

“Exactly,” Peter murmurs, and then she’s sealing her lips around Stiles’s clit, and every thought that isn’t _please_ flies out of her head.

***

The next day, she can feel the ghost of Peter’s cock every time she sits down. But it’s okay, because she knows who to call for that.

**Author's Note:**

> This now has a very short [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20917628)  
>    
> Come witness me and my bullshit on [Tumblr](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/). Currently playing: the dumpsterfire that is me trying to wrestle control of my life back from Peter fucking Hale.


End file.
